The Prodigal Son
by Samiferal
Summary: A delusional father goes on a killing spree and kidnaps a boy who he thinks is his dead son. While the BAU is investigating, the boy's sister tries to take things into her own hands. With slight focus on Reid and Morgan. NO pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Another dramatic case for the BAU! I always wanted to write about how you can both love and hate your younger brother (I have enough experience), and Clara represents my, and I guess many others' feelings. I couldn't resist putting a slight focus on Derek and Spencer. Rated T for violence and some bad language. Criminal minds belongs to CBS, the OC's are mine. I've never been to America – not to say Virginia – so please forgive geographical mistakes. Enjoy! 

**THE PRODIGAL SON**

_In a dark moment I ask, "How can anyone bring a child into this world?" And the answer rings clear, "Because there is no other world, and because the child has no other way into it." _ ~Robert Brault

**Richmond, Virginia **

In the local elementary school, Ms Schuster, the art teacher, was finishing the attendance.

"Emily Rice?", she asked the class, looking up from her computer screen.

"She's sick today," one of the boys, Christopher, told her. Emily was not the only one – half the class wasn't here today. They had probably all caught the same nasty virus that was going around in town at the moment.

"And Sam Tellson?", she asked.

"Not here either", Christopher said. He was such an enthusiastic student, Ms Schuster thought. Smart, too. Probably the smartest kid in class.

Ms Schuster began the lesson. It was Friday, and even though it was only the first period, none of the kids were really concentrating on what she said about colors. They were all chatting about their plans for the weekend, whispering eagerly to one another. Ms Schuster didn't really mind, since they were all working on their paintings while they talked. She had long ago learned that art classes are hardly ever quiet, and really the kids, and herself, were ready for a little break from school. Lost in her thoughts, she started putting examples for what the children were supposed to draw on the overhead projector.

Christopher had already finished his picture and was looking out of the window. A man was climbing the stairs to the school's main entrance. He was alone, so he was probably a teacher. He was wearing a brown coat, and Christopher wondered whether teachers were allowed to be late. Usually only the students were tardy. As the man disappeared into the building, Christopher focused on what Ms Schuster told them about how to make a house look more three-dimensional again.

A few minutes later, the class heard loud noises from outside. Someone in the other class down the corridor was shouting, and something fell to the ground heavily. The class looked at Ms Schuster expectantly.

"Alright", she said, standing up. "I'll find out what's going on there. You keep working, I'll be right back." She left the room.

She had closed the door, but the class could still hear her talking outside.

"Jesus, what's going on in here?", she shouted, then, "Sir? Who are you, sir? Can I help you? I… Oh God. Oh dear lord. Oh God, please don't - What are you –"

There was an incredibly loud, sharp banging noise. It sounded like a bomb exploding just outside the room. It was followed by a soft thud. And footsteps. Christopher had no idea what was going on out there, but his imagination was enough to make him panic.

"Guys, get under your desks!", he screamed and quickly followed his own advice. What were you supposed to do in a situation like this? They had had so many drills, but Christopher's brain seemed empty.

"What's happening?", Lisa whispered from where she was crouched down underneath her table, eyes wide with fear.

"Shh," Ryan hissed back urgently. The whole class was quiet; they didn't even dare to breathe as the footsteps approached. Then the door was opened. Christopher was so terrified he thought his heart might actually stop beating.

Then someone slowly stepped inside. It was the man in the brown coat. But when Christopher had seen him through the window, there had not been any red stains on it yet. There hadn't been a gun, either.

The man walked slowly and unsteadily, as if he was drunk.

"Jimmy?", he shouted. "Jimmy, are you here? Jimmy?" He walked across the room to Ms Schuster's desk, apparently not taking any notice of the frightened children cowering under their desks. He went to the computer and stared intently at the screen for several minutes. Then he fell down to his knees, and tears where running down his face.

"Jimmy!", he cried, again and again. "Jimmy, where are you…" Finally, he threw the gun onto the floor, put his face into his hands and just sat there, sobbing. This was when the tension became too much. Lisa stood up, her whole body shaking. Then she turned and raced out of the room.

The man didn't notice anything, or at least he didn't seem to care. Slowly, one after another, the other kids got up and ran out of the room. Christopher was the last one. As quietly as he could, his knees and hands trembling with terror, he crossed the classroom, the teacher's desk, reached the door – There was a faint click behind him. He turned around. The man had sat up, and his gun pointed at Christopher.

"Are- are you Jimmy?" He asked staring at him through reddened, unfocused eyes. Chritopher made a decision.

"Yes, I am Jimmy", he said, his voice a lot less confident than he had wanted it to be.

"Why did you run away!", the man howled. And shot. It was only his leg, but the pain was enough to make Christopher pass out. The last thing he felt was someone picking him up.

**FBI/Behavioral Analysis Unit – Quantico, Virginia**

The BAU team was gathering in the conference room. It was Friday afternoon, and all of them had been looking forward to a quiet weekend at home. Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner was the first one to come in and sit down, and he was in an especially bad mood, since he had promised his little son Jack to spend the Saturday with him. He had short, black hair and wore a deep frown, indicating his constant struggle to do his job without leaving Jack alone with his aunt all the time.

Agents David Rossi, Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss came in next, and finally Spencer Reid arrived as well, with his coffee in one hand, and quickly sat down. Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, their pretty, blonde media liaison started presenting their new case.

"We have a white male in his thirties who broke into an elementary school in Richmond yesterday. He went into both of the third grade classes, armed and apparently searching for someone called Jimmy. He didn't do anything in the first class except shouting and waving his gun, but when the teacher of the second class came out looking for what was causing the noise, he shot her. Right in the face. Then he went in."

She passed out three photos of the unrecognizable body.

"Her name is Michelle Schuster, art teacher, she was thirty-four."

Reid put down his coffee and took a close look, frowning. "The face, that sounds personal. Do you think he knew her?"

JJ shook her head. "I shouldn't think so. The kids say she asked who he was before she was killed."

"Maybe she reminded him of someone he knew, and that triggered the reaction," Rossi suggested, looking thoughtful. He was the oldest member of the team and one of the pioneers of criminal profiling. His four divorces proved that his extensive knowledge of the human psyche wasn't having a positive influence on his social life.

Morgan looked up. "JJ, you said, the kids. How did they get out?", he asked, looking at JJ.

"Apparently they hid under their desks after they heard the shot. They say the man was sitting on the floor crying and asking for Jimmy, and he didn't even notice them sneaking out."

"Tell me there's a "but"", said Prentiss. She was the newest team member and spoke not only Russian, Arabic, Spanish and French, but also fluent sarcasm. JJ sighed and put another photo down on the table.

"One of the kids is missing," she said.

The photo showed a young boy with a round, slightly chubby face, glasses and brown hair. He was wearing a green _Star Wars _t-shirt and a huge grin.

"His name is Christopher Henderson, eight years old, lives with both parents and an older sister in Richmond. They found some of his blood in the classroom, so he might be hurt. The family will be here soon."

"Any idea why the UnSub chose him in particular?", asked Hotch. He was frowning, as always, but the team knew that he also hated crimes on children more than anything.

"Not yet," JJ answered. "It could be that he knew him, or that he just reminded him of someone else, like Rossi said. But he wasn't selected randomly."

Reid was still studying one of the crime scene photos.

"Guys, both Michelle Schuster and Christopher Henderson have brown hair and glasses. Maybe that means something to our UnSub."

"Right," Hotch announced, standing up.

"JJ, we are going to Richmond to talk to those kids again, see if they left out anything important. Prentiss, victimology. Search for any further connections between Schuster and Christopher. Morgan, Reid, I want you to talk to the Hendersons when they arrive. See if they or Christopher had any enemies, anything to help us find him. I want you all in Richmond by tonight. Prepare for not getting a lot of sleep this weekend."

The Hendersons arrived ten minutes later. Mr Henderson had his arm around his wife's shoulders. She was shaking and clinging to an old-fashioned handkerchief with both hands. Their daughter Clara stood next to them with her chin shoved forward and her arms crossed defensively. She had brown curly hair like her father, wore glasses and was a little chubby, like the rest of the family. She didn't seem desperate at all, just angry.

The all sat down in the interrogation room. Morgan and Reid took the chairs on the opposite side of the table.

"Mr and Mrs Henderson, I know this must be very hard for you right now," Morgan started.

Mrs Henderson began to sob quietly into her handkerchief.

"You always think that sort of thing happens to… other people. You never think it could be you…"

Her husband said, stroking her head.

"My poor baby!", she cried. "He never did anything wrong! He doesn't deserve this!"

Reid took over. "Are you sure, ma'am? Did he have any enemies at school or in the neighborhood, anything you noticed? Did he have any fights or arguments recently?"

"He is the best son anyone could wish to have. His grades are stellar, he is nice to girls, he likes soccer and playing _Star Wars _with his friends. He always kept out of trouble," Mr Henderson answered.

Morgan said, "We have reason to believe that the UnSub might know Christopher. Can you think of anyone? A teacher or another parent, maybe?"

"There is no one," Clara answered instead of her parents. "Everybody loves Christopher." It didn't sound as though that was a good thing.

"That's right," her mother hiccupped. "He is such a sweet boy."

"Mr and Mrs Henderson, in 88.5 percent of child abduction cases the child dies within the first 24 hours. Every little detail could be important," Reid said.

Mrs Henderson gave a howl of despair and buried her face in her husband's chest. _Well done_, Morgan mouthed to Reid, then he stood up.

"We will briefly go outside and discuss what you told us. Can I bring you anything? Coffee, water?"

"It's alright, thank you," Mr Henderson said, patting his wife's back. Morgan left the room, followed by Reid.

"There was no need to say that," Morgan said. "You scared the hell out of that woman."

"I'm sorry, but this was going nowhere. They obviously don't believe Christopher could have done anything wrong. They wouldn't have told us, even if there was something."

"Maybe there is. I think you should interview the daughter privately. Besides, have you seen the way she looks at you? Seems like you got an admirer, kid," Morgan said, smiling suggestively.

Reid looked indignant. "She's fourteen, man!", he said.

"Well, than you'd have about the same amount of experience," Morgan answered, grinning now.

Reid looked as though he was going to answer something rather unkind, but thought better of it and instead answered, "Yeah, whatever" and went to the interrogation room to interview Clara.

She was already sitting at the table when he came in, arms crossed.

"Clara, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he said as he took the opposite chair and sat down.

"Yeah, you said that before," she answered, looking down at the smooth wood of the table.

It didn't sound quite as dismissive as it had before, though.

"Clara, your little brother has been kidnapped, but you don't seem really upset. Why?", he asked, looking at her face, then at her hands.

Body language could tell you a lot of things, and it worked better the younger somebody was. Her fingers started to trace the lines in the wood, her left hand held the second and third finger of the right one and covered them. She wanted protection, something to hold on to. Not unusual.

She obviously had an answer, but was not sure whether she should give it.

"Do you have siblings, Dr. Reid?", she asked eventually, looking up.

"Uh, no," he answered, only slightly thrown off track. "Why?"

"You wanna hear the truth?", she asked, staring into his eyes for a few seconds, then down at the table again.

Not quite sure what to say, Reid answered, "Yes. I guess. That's what I'm here for."

"I hate him," she said quietly. "I keep… I always think whatever happens to him, like, when he hurts his knee at soccer or something, I think he deserves it. I can't stop thinking… the little bastard… deserves it."

The last words where merely a whisper.

"What did he do?", Reid asked, frowning.

Her voice grew louder again. "It's nothing in particular!", she said. "He just… exists. And he's so damn perfect. Everybody loves him. My parents are always talking about him. He's so cool, he's so pretty, he's so nice… And it's just not true! He uses every chance to point out what I have done wrong today, and my parents always agree with him. When I get angry, they're on _his _side. When_ I_ want something, _he_ gets it. When we both need to be somewhere, they drive _him_ first. I can't even talk to my dad for, like, a second, because Christopher always needs his attention. And gets it, of course. I can't stand him!"

When she started crying, Reid felt more and more uncomfortable. What should he do about this? Hold her hand or even hug her?

JJ probably would have, but, well, JJ would probably hug an UnSub if he looked sad enough. Eventually, he leaned forward and awkwardly patted the girl's hand.

"Clara, I need to know if anything unusual happened to your brother in the days before he was abducted. Every little detail could be important".

She wiped her eyes. "I don't know. One of his classmates came over on Monday and tried to teach him how to skateboard. They almost crashed into a car accident. Big thing, the police sent them right away. He was so embarrassed about it that he didn't tell mom and dad, but I saw it. But really, I can't think of anything else. He usually kept out of trouble… At least in school."

Reid sighed. The girl did not seem to have a lot more information than her parents, and he found the way she criticized her brother when he could be in such danger slightly unsettling.

"Very well," he said. "I will have our technical analyst check on that accident and see if it is of any significance for the case. You can go back to your parents now, and we will keep you informed about our investigation."

He stood up. When he was at the door, Clara suddenly said, "Dr. Reid? I hate my brother, I really do. But he is my brother, and _nobody _is allowed to hurt him. If you find that son of a bitch, I am going to kill him."

She sounded completely serious, and as Reid turned around she stared directly into his eyes.

"Oh, and Dr. Reid? Please keep me updated."

He frowned at her for a second, and said, "Of course. It's protocol that the family keeps updated on everything we find out."

Then he left the room and took out his mobile.

"Hey Garcia, it's Reid," he said.

"Well, hello there, doctor! And all alone? How may I serve you?"

"Garcia, I need you to find some information on a car accident a week ago in Richmond, near the Henderson's house. Their daughter says it was a big thing, so maybe there were deaths. Can you do that for me?"

"Anything for you, gorgeous grey matter. I'll call you back when I have something."

"Thanks," Reid said and put the phone into his pocket.

**Local Police Department – Richmond, Virginia**

"Our UnSub is definitely disorganized. He left us loads of fingerprints and about fifty witnesses," Hotch said to the rest of his team forty minutes later.

"He could just be very confident," Morgan pointed out.

"That's highly unlikely," Prentiss said. "The first teacher told us that he was definitely drunk, and in the second classroom he sat down and cried. That doesn't sound like a lot of self-esteem to me."

"I think he could also be delusional. He was looking for someone called Jimmy and took Christopher instead, so he's obviously not thinking clearly," Rossi told them.

Hotch straightened up. "Let's get Garcia on the line, she was running the fingerprints through our databases; maybe she has found something yet."

They didn't need to call her. Just a moment later Garcia appeared on the screen that was hanging from the wall in the conference room.

"Hey, my furry friends," she greeted them.

There was a colossal purple flower in her blonde hair.

"Hold on tight, I think I found something really interesting. The fingerprints from the school belong to a certain Michael Sarton, 39, registered for drunk driving. I already did some research on him, since I am awesome, and it turns out that his private life was pretty messed up. His wife Charlotte was depressive and couldn't take care of their seven-year-old son, and Michael seems to have been drunk most of the time. It even says here that social services paid two visits. And now guess who had a fatal car crash a week ago."

Reid sat up. "Hold on a second, Garcia. Guys, Clara Henderson told me that Christopher has been to the scene of an accident. He had been skateboarding and ended up there with a friend. The police sent them away as soon as they noticed them. I didn't think it was important, that's why I haven't told you yet. Garcia, it was the same accident, wasn't it?"

"Brilliant as always, doctor," Garcia said. "Charlotte was driving the car, which is weird, because she hasn't left home in years as far as I can say. Their son was DOA, she died on the way to the hospital. And _here _comes the most interesting thing. One hundred points for the one that can tell me their son's name."

Rossi didn't even hesitate. "James Sarton," he said.

"Called Jimmy," Prentiss added.


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay," Hotch said and stood up. "I need to talk to the police officers that were present that day and ask if they noticed anything about the UnSub or Christopher. This might be where Sarton first saw him. Morgan, Reid, you come with me. I want the rest of you to take a small SWAT team to Sarton's adress. I don't think he is hiding Christopher there, but we have to rule out every possibility."

**Somewhere in Virginia**

Jimmy hasn't woken up yet. Yeah, Michael remembers, he has always needed a lot of sleep. Sleeps 'til midday on the weekends, haha.

Michael has laid him down on an old, battered sofa. There is a lot of weird stuff in here. He doesn't remember seeing it , back when he used to come here with Charlotte. But he knows they are safe here.

Michael has even found an old-fashioned CD-player that still works and a CD with an African-looking cover.

Maybe Jimmy wants to listen to the music together when he wakes up. Jimmy loves music. Michael can still not understand why Jimmy ran away from him after the accident.

He stood right next to the demolished car, and then he ran away. Michael is sure that Charlotte is still out there, but that doesn't matter. She tried to kill herself and Jimmy. That bitch doesn't deserve to see her son again.

Anyway, Michael can take care of Jimmy now. He can give him food. And music. They will live in this cool, dark room and be happy. Maybe one day Michael will show Jimmy how to fish in a river. It will be only them, father and son, living happily ever after…

Christopher woke up. It was cold and dim around him. He was lying somewhere soft, and his leg hurt so much he wished he could be unconscious again. It throbbed painfully in rhythm with his heartbeat, and it felt hot like fire. He had a headache as well.

He opened his eyes – and stared into the face of the man who had killed Ms Schuster. The events came back to him, rapidly, like a film. The man smelled of sweat and alcohol, and one of his hands stroked Christopher's head.

It felt so scary and disgusting that Christopher felt tears welling up in his eyes. Where was he? What was happening? When were mum and dad going to come and save him?

"Jimmy?", the man said softly. "Don't be scared, Jimmy, it's all gonna be alright. Daddy's here," he murmured, while Christopher tried to move his face away from the man's.

"It's all gonna be alright now, Jimmy," he said again. "Do you wanna hear some music? I know you love music. I don't know what this is, but let's try it, okay?"

Christopher started to cry. He wanted the pain in his leg and head to go away, and he wanted to be with mum and dad, somewhere far away from this crazy man.

"Please, Dad please make it go away… Please help me…"

And then the man turned on the music. It was African. The man turned it louder and louder, until Christopher thought he could feel the sound of drums vibrate through his whole body. His head felt like it was going to burst any seconds. He put his hands over his ears but it didn't help.

The pain got worse, got so horrible he vomited violently on the floor next to the sofa. The beat of the drums got faster and louder, until he didn't even know where he was anymore. His head was spinning like a carrousel. He lay there whimpering for his mum and dad, until he finally slipped back to unconsciousness again.

Michael likes the music. He starts do dance across the room. Jimmy is obviously enjoying it as well. He grins happily at his dad.

"Make it louder!", he shouts over the rhythmic bass. Michael turns it off again after the third song is over. Jimmy seems to be asleep again. Well, he has to be tired, Michael figures. He hid from me for a whole week. God, maybe he hasn't eaten the whole time!

Michael runs over to his bag on the floor and finds a slightly battered sandwich and a bottle of beer. He doesn't know whether Jimmy likes beer, but he doesn't have anything else either. And it has never been bad for him, has it? No.

"Wake up, Jimmy, I brought you some breakfast! Wake up, come on…"

**Local Police Department – Richmond, Virginia**

The police officer that had been called to the car crash the Monday before was a tall, black man with a short military haircut and intelligent eyes.

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner with the FBI, and these are agents Morgan and Dr. Reid," Hotch introduced them as always.

Morgan shook hands with the officer, whereas Reid, who had magically made a cup of coffee appear in his hand, just gave him his usual, shy little wave.

"I'm Officer Jared Turner," the man answered. "I wish we would meet under different circumstances – One kid dead and another one abducted in just one week, that's why I sometimes hate my job."

"I know, sir, but that's why we need to talk to you," Morgan took over.

"We have an eyewitness that saw Christopher Henderson, the abducted boy, at the scene of the accident." Reid added, "We believe this might be one of the reasons for his abduction.

"Officer Turner, was the boy's father present at the scene?", Hotch asked.

"Michael? Yes. He came there pretty fast, doesn't live far away. He was so upset one of the paramedics gave him a shot to make him calm down."

"Could be the stressor," Reid put in.

"Stressor?", Turner repeated.

Hotch explained, "What triggered the UnSub to commit the crime."

The officer nodded. "Anyway, he said his wife, Charlotte, had killed their son."

"Well, Charlotte was severely depressive. It could have been suicide," Morgan said.

"Yeah, but why kill little Jimmy?", Turner asked.

"His father was an alcoholic. Maybe she wanted to protect him?", Reid suggested.

Turner raised his eyebrows. "Man, you gotta deal with some pretty sick people to suspect things like that."

"I don't think this was a suicide. But it is possible that Mr. Sarton thinks it was. We need to know whether Christopher really was at the scene and if Mr. Sarton saw him," Hotch brought the conversation back to its initial topic.

The officer sighed. "I wasn't with Mr. Sarton, and I had to many people around me to notice some kids, but I know who you can ask."

He led them to another officer sitting at a desk and eating a muffin. He had greasy blonde hair and a look of slightly annoying eagerness in his eyes. Turner stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Fred. These are agents Hotchner, Morgan and Reid with the FBI. They need to ask you some questions about that car crash on Monday."

"Thank you for your time, officer," Hotch said to Turner, who nodded and left the group alone with Fred, who, as they found out, was actually Officer Gilman. He also turned out to be more competent than he had seemed at first, because he listened quietly and without any interruptions to what the three profilers explained to him.

After they had finished, he slowly said: "Yes. I remember the kids. Two boys on skateboards."

Morgan took the photograph of Christopher Henderson out of his pocket. "Did one of them look like this? That's Christopher, the kid who was abducted."

Officer Gilman took another bite of his muffin, swallowed and studied the picture.

"Yeah, I think so. Yup, totally! He even wore that _Star Wars _t-shirt. He wasn't very good at boarding, got himself right onto the scene. I sent him away quickly, I said next time I'd tell his parents. He and that friend of his took off immediately – I didn't even think about it that much. Happened to me too once or twice, when I was his age. I loved _Star Wars, _too. Boys never change, eh?"

Reid looked up. "Well, actually there have been studies showing that the constant changes in society- " he began, but Morgan cut him off with a distinct stare.

"Um. Sorry." The young agent murmured, looking down.

Morgan almost felt sorry for his friend, who sometimes missed the difference between a serious question and a rhetorical one. But Reid was used to being interrupted before he started one of his endless statistical lectures and already seemed to be concentrating on his coffee again.

Then he looked up once more. "Wait, all boys love _Star Wars_?" He thought for a second, eyes closed, then he took out his phone, while the others looked at him curiously.

"Garcia? Can you send me the picture of Jimmy Sarton you showed us before? I think I found something here."

A few moments later, the photograph of the dead boy, full of blood, in the destroyed car, popped up on his screen. Reid zoomed in on the bottom half of the gruesome picture and turned the phone so the others could see it.

Where Jimmy's t-shirt wasn't soaked in bright red, it was definitely green. And on the very bottom of the photograph, clearly visible, were Yoda's head and the tip of a laser sword.

It was the same t-shirt Christopher Henderson had worn the day he was abducted.

"Well done, Kid," Morgan said to Reid. "Now what the hell does this mean?"

**Local Police Department – Richmond, Virginia**

The whole team was sitting in a private conference room. Rossi, JJ and Prentiss had searched Michael Sarton's home with the SWAT team and had found nothing but a few empty bottles of beer out of the ordinary. It seemed like Sarton hadn't been home since the death of his wife and son.

"Jimmy and Christopher did not only wear the same t-shirt at times that were crucial to our UnSub – Jimmy's death and Christopher's abduction – but they also share obvious external features. Both have brown hair and glasses, as you can see here," Reid was explaining to the rest of the team.

"We know that Mr. Sarton had a mental breakdown at the scene of the accident, and the paramedics drugged him."

JJ was the first one to get his point. She had been friends with Reid since day one, and they had even gone out once.

"Oh, God. So he sees his son die, and moments later he sees Christopher, who he thinks is his son because they look similar and he is on drugs, leave the scene on a skateboard? That's awful."

JJ looked shocked – about two years ago she had married New Orleans policeman William LaMontagne, and they had a baby son. Little Henry had once been in serious danger due to his parents' jobs, and JJ was not only a car_ing_, but also a very care_ful_ mother.

"I guess that'd make me lose it as well," Prentiss said. "Plus, he is an alcoholic."

"So…" Rossi began. "He thinks his son ran away from him, for whatever reason. He is completely delusional. He wanders around the city, looking for his son, who is actually dead. He looks for him in an elementary school, and there he sees Christopher again. He is wearing the _Star Wars _t-shirt. Sarton thinks he has finally found his son – and he's not going to let him go ever again."

Hotch added, "I think we're ready to give the profile."

"And then let's find this sick bastard," Morgan said.

The BAU team was surrounded by a semi-circle of eager police officers - among them Officers Turner and Gilman - some with little notebooks and pencils in their hands.

The team was giving the profile to them – telling them everything they needed to know about Michael Sarton, the UnSub, from his private life to his motif. Every member took their turn in talking, sometimes everybody only said two sentences.

Over the years, they had learned to work together perfectly, like a clockwork, each profiler contributing their special talents to the team: the ambitious Hotchner had been a lawyer and was amazing when it came to diplomacy and keeping the group together.

Rossi, the oldest team member, was probably one of the best profilers in the FBI and had the most experience.

Morgan did not only have a black belt in Judo, but also was an expert on obsessive crimes and had a lot of personal experience with criminal behavior – but often it was him who helped the others cope with all the horror they saw and see the bright side.

Prentiss was simply a great profiler and often brought in her dry, sarcastic humor.

Dr. Reid, with his massive intellect and eidetic memory, sometimes functioned as the team's human databank, and he had an almost legendary ability to talk psychotic UnSubs down and turn them in without using his gun or other weapons.

JJ and Garcia both weren't profilers, but they did their best to keep the team together and keep up the spirits during gruesome cases.

Now, Rossi was just finishing the profile off. "One more thing," he said.

The officers around them still looked eager and alert.

"When you find this UnSub, he will not surrender voluntarily. He found his son and he is not going to let him go, and we are certain he is willing to use force against anyone who threatens him."

"So will he just keep shooting at us?", a young blonde officer asked. She seemed very frightened about the idea. "I mean, he has a gun."

Reid cleared his throat and said, "Suicide by cop seems to be a very popular way UnSubs like this one avoid prosecution."

The blonde's eyes widened, he quickly scribbled something onto her paper, then turned and left.

A little later, they were going through Michael Sarton's past with Garcia's help, trying to find any place that might be important to him, while Reid was working on one of his many specialties – the geographical profile, which basically meant finding the UnSub's comfort zone based on at least three locations he had visited as part of his killing spree or that had special significance to him.

It was a complicated progress involving a lot of math, and Reid always did it because he could do it about ten times faster than everyone else, but the team still teased him about the work, because to any bystander it often looked like Reid was just randomly coloring in a map. Eventually, Reid announced that he had calculated Sarton's comfort zone. He pointed at a sadly rather large area between his home, the school where Christopher had been abducted and the scene of last Monday's accident.

"Good work, Reid," Hotch said. "Only we haven't really had any success here. But the UnSub at least seems to have a quite normal relationship with his mother, Mariana Sarton-Clark. She lives in Richmond, not too far from here. I think we need to visit her to find more about Sarton. Prentiss and Morgan will go talk to her for us."

**Mariana Sarton-Clark's house – Richmond, Virginia**

Morgan wished they wouldn't have to do this. Couldn't the UnSub have left anything useful at all?

Instead they had to go and interview an old woman, tell her that her son was a murderer and had abducted a child – all that while little Christopher was still out there experiencing God only knew what.

Morgan was sick of horrible things happening to kids. He was a man that didn't trust people easily. He had grown up in a harsh neighborhood full of poverty and gang fights. His father had been shot right in front of him, and the next man to look after him had turned out to be a pervert and pedophile.

But there was one thing Derek Morgan knew for sure – children didn't harm people. They never hurt anyone intentionally, they didn't lie, they were totally guiltless.

Morgan was almost overly protective when it came to kids or helpless people –when his younger colleague and friend Dr. Reid had been kidnapped and tortured, Morgan had become so enraged that he had almost smashed a door with his fist.

From experience, Morgan knew that there was another group of extremely miserable people involved in the cases they worked – the killers' parents. Mrs. Sarton-Clark wasn't an exception.

Soon Morgan and Prentiss were sitting on the brown, old-fashioned chairs in her living room, with cups of half-heartedly prepared coffee in their hands, trying to comfort the old woman that was sobbing the usual reaction into her embroidered handkerchief: My son wouldn't – couldn't – have done this, he was always such a good boy, yes, I know he had some problems, but doesn't everyone? And why didn't he come talk to his mum if he needed help?

Morgan really sympathized with her, but right now, they desperately needed some answers. Prentiss leaned over and patted the old lady's shoulder.

"Mrs. Sarton-Clark- "

"Clark, please just call me Mrs. Clark."

"-Mrs. Clark, I know this must be horrible and incredibly frightening for you. But all we can do right now is try to find your son Michael, so we can save him _and _the little boy that's with him. Do you understand me?"

Mrs. Clark muttered an answer into her handkerchief. Prentiss shared a look with Morgan. He knew he had to try and get some information out of that woman before she completely closed up and started to deny everything. He also was aware that this meant they were playing on her state of shock, which didn't feel right to him at all – but it was necessary.

"Mrs. Clark," he began, leaning forward as well, elbows resting on his knees.

"We need to know if there was any place here in Richmond that was really important to your son."

"What do you mean?", she asked in a small voice, looking up at him.

"It could be anything," he answered. "Maybe a pub were he liked to hang out. Maybe the place he proposed to Charlotte or just somewhere he worked. Do you have any idea where such a place might be?"

Mrs. Clark still looked a little confused.

"Take your time," Prentiss said in a friendly tone, even though Morgan knew she was thinking the exact opposite.

Eventually, the old woman wiped the tears of her face.

"Yes. I think I know a place like that. There's this old house not far from where Michael lives – it used to be a bar, but it was closed down years ago – He and Charlotte used to hang out in there… probably drinking or doing I don't want to know what other stuff – don't get me wrong, he really is a good boy!"

"Yes, I know, Mrs. Clark. He sure is. Can you tell us where the house is, ma'am?", he asked, trying hard to keep the urgency out of his voice. Mrs. Clark gave him the address, and he called Reid.

"Yup, that's totally inside the area I calculated. I'm with Hotch and the others - We'll meet you there in thirty minutes with SWAT." He hung up. 

Morgan and Prentiss turned to leave the house, but Mrs. Clark held Morgan back by his sleeve.

"What is it, Mrs. Clark?", he asked. 

"Agent Morgan…. I don't know if that's important to you, but there was this girl here a few hours ago… Claire or something, I think… And she wanted to know almost the same stuff you just asked me." 


	3. Chapter 3

Reid was sitting in the back of their black SUV with JJ; Hotch and Rossi were in the front. He was just putting his phone back into his bag, when it rang again. Reid answered.

"Hey, Morgan."

"Kid, bad news. Can you put me on speaker?" 

"Sure."

Now everybody in the car could hear and talk to Morgan, who quickly told them what he knew from Mrs. Sarton-Clark: Christopher's older sister Clara – who had of course been updated on the progress in their investigation, and therefore knew Michael Sartner's name – had somehow managed to find his mother.

Obviously she didn't exactly ask the right questions and had gotten a number of places where the UnSub might be, but Mrs. Clark was sure that she had mentioned the old bar to the girl.

"Oh damn", Hotch commented and tried to get the SUV through the full streets even faster.

Reid said, "Guys, she told me she wanted to kill whoever did this to her brother, and she didn't sound like she was joking. I don't think she would go that far, but she definitely might get herself into danger."

JJ leaned over and touched his shoulder. "Hey, you do know that this isn't your fault, right?"

Reid sighed. "Yeah, I – I do know that. But it's just… Don't you sometimes have a bad feeling about a case, like, you feel something will go wrong?"

Rossi looked at him through the rearview mirror. "Reid, something always goes wrong in the first place – that's why we're going there. Things going wrong are our job."

Reid nodded – this wasn't new information to him – and started to look out of the window silently.

**Somewhere on a Street - Richmond, Virginia**

Clara had almost given up. She could feel the reassuring metal of her large pocketknife in her sweater.

She had been to every location that the old woman – the mother of this bastard Sarton – had given her.

Every place except for one, the one farthest away. She was riding her bike with new enthusiasm now – she knew, this time, Sarton would be there, and Christopher would be there, too.

And then her dream would finally come true. She would kill this son of a bitch and save her little brother. She would get her revenge – and, of course, everyone was going to love her.

She would be a hero. Her parents would finally respect her, and people in school wouldn't tease her anymore. That was going to happen. But most importantly, she would save Christopher, even though she hated him – she was his sister and had a _right _to do so. Other people didn't. Nobody should ever harm one of Clara Henderson's family members, she thought to herself. 

Riding along the darkening streets of Richmond, Clara was coming up with different plans. Of course, her idea wouldn't work out if it looked like she had just gone and stabbed Sarton in the back.

She needed to make it look like she had acted out of self-defense. Maybe she would actually have to, that would make it easier. Clara could feel the adrenaline flushing through her veins. She was finally going to get her revenge!

Then she looked up and saw that she was already in front of the old building.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

**Outside The Old Bar - Richmond, Virginia (A Few Minutes Later)**

Morgan and Prentiss arrived almost at the same time as the rest of the team. SWAT followed them and was now preparing to go in. Hotch was explaining the exact situation to them. 

"The most important thing is to get the boy out here alive. Agent Jareau here will stay with the cars and take over as soon as he's out of that building. But the UnSub is not going to give up. He is going to try and take you down. Remember, the boy- "

Hotch was interrupted by Prentiss, who had taken a quick look around the street.

"Hotch, please tell me that that bike over there with the C.H. sticker on it does _not _belong to Clara Henderson," she said.

Hotch's frown became even deeper than usual. "Go tell the others," he ordered.

Then he turned back to the SWAT team, all heavily armed and in black clothing.

"Watch out for the boy's sister, Clara. She might be in there and trying to do something really stupid. She's 14, approximately 5'8", brown hair, glasses. We need to get her out of there as well. Again – the kids have priority."

The leader of the SWAT team gave a short nod. Then they started to split up into smaller groups, covering the different entries of the building. Rossi, Morgan and Reid were going to use the front door, while Hotch and Prentiss went around the back and JJ stayed outside waiting for the kids to come out, so she could immediately hide them in the car safely.

**The Old Bar - Richmond, Virginia**

This must have been one hell of a pub, Clara thought to herself as she wandered through the dusty corridors and halls. There were so many rooms, and she didn't have the slightest idea what they had been used for all those years ago.

Clara had her plan clearly worked out in her head: She would look for Sarton, and when she had found him, she would try to approach him from the back without being noticed. Then she wanted to stab him – only once, so she wouldn't kill him.

The image of him falling to the floor and looking at her in terrified amazement kept appearing in her mind. For a second, she was scared of herself for thinking thoughts like that. What am I doing here, anyway? The FBI will sort it all out, and everything will be like it was before this.

_Exactly._

No. This was not going to happen. Nothing would be the same after Clara's heroic deed. She had to do this, because otherwise she would have to live with the endless, terrible guilt of letting something happen to a family member. This was why she needed to do this right now.

Suddenly she stopped. From the end of the hallway she was in right now, she could definitely hear some noise. It sounded almost like… African music? Yes, it did. Drums, rhythmic beats, many-voiced choir singing.

Clara started to wonder with what kind of psycho she had gotten involved here. But now she knew where to go.

Her breath was going faster now, she could feel herself sweating under the thick sweater. Her stomach hurt with fear. But she couldn't stop now. She reached the end of the hallway, her left hand clutching the pocketknife like it was keeping her from falling off a cliff.

The door to the room was slightly opened. Trying to breathe inaudibly she looked into the room with one eye. She saw a man kneeling down next to a sofa, with his head to the door. This was her chance! But before she could react, the man moved.

Clara could just stop herself from screaming when she had a clear view of the sofa. It was Christopher. It took her just a heartbeat to see what was wrong with the picture of him sleeping peacefully on a couch: His skin was grey. And when she had last seen him, his jeans had been blue, not red and rust-colored.

Tears were filling up her eyes as pictures drifted to the surface of her mind:

Baby Christopher, tucked into his buggy when they went for the first walk of his life. His pink cheeks, shiny with Vaseline, barely visible under the sheepskin.

Two-year-old Christopher, so cute and innocent, running around on chubby legs and singing random songs.

Five-year-old Christopher who had found a baby bird on the ground and desperately was trying to save its life.

Clara couldn't think rationally anymore. She opened the door and ran towards her brother. As soon as she had reached him, she felt something cold and round on the back of her head. He has a gun, silly girl, she thought.

Rossi, Morgan, Reid and the SWAT people had almost reached the main bar room when they heard the music. They stopped for a second, then quickly approached the halfway open door. It was a trained procedure. Everybody hat their gun ready to fire. Morgan kicked the door into a fully opened position, and the SWAT team quickly ran into the room.

The profilers followed them. The scene wasn't difficult to comprehend. Christopher was lying on a sofa, obviously he had been bleeding severely. Clara was kneeling next to him, crying heartbreakingly – and over her stood the UnSub, Michael Sarton, with his gun on her head.

Reid had never seen anyone crying that hard. The worst thing was that Sarton stood in an angle that made it impossible for anyone to take him down without risking to hurt Clara or Christopher. Then, Sarton began to speak.

"Charlotte? Are you Charlotte?", he asked, sounding a little insecure.

Oh God, Reid suddenly thought, as his mind completed the puzzle in front of him. Charlotte was Sarton's dead wife. She had been depressive. Sarton believed she had intentionally caused the accident that had killed her and her son. But then, Sarton believed his son was still alive. Why wouldn't Charlotte be? But one thing was clear: Michael blamed Charlotte for everything. And in his delusional state of mind, he was going to punish Clara.

"Charlotte!", Sarton said, louder and more aggressive this time. "Look what you have done to him, you goddamn-" 

"Mr. Sarton!", Reid called out. 

"Reid, don't," Morgan hissed, but Reid ignored him. 

Sarton turned and now his gun was pointed at Reid.

"Mr. Sarton, this must be _so _hard for you. You have been looking for Jimmy all week, haven't you?", Reid asked in a friendly, reassuring voice that other people might have used to talk to a child.

Sarton nodded slowly. Reid swallowed. He was scared, but he felt like maybe, they could do this without shooting someone.

"But now you've finally found him, right? He's with his daddy now?"

Again, Sarton nodded, lowering his gun just slightly. "Charlotte wanted to kill him," he whispered.

"Yes, I know," Reid answered quietly. "I know, and that was really bad of her. But you know what? This girl in front of you – she's not Charlotte." 

"Yes she is!", Sarton shouted angrily, raising the gun again. Reid was really nervous now.

Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hotch and Prentiss entering the room through a back door.

"No, no, Mr. Sarton. Look at her. Look really close. Does she look like Charlotte?" 

Sarton knelt down next to Clara, still not giving anyone a clear shot. He looked at her like she was a new piece of furniture that had to be inspected for mistakes.

Please, keep still, Clara, Reid begged silently. Please, don't freak out.

"Does she look like Charlotte, Michael?", He asked again.

Sarton grabbed Clara's hair, looking at it. She had gone dead silent, but was visibly shaking. Sarton started smelling her hair. Don't move, Clara, keep still...

She didn't.

"Clara, no!", Prentiss shouted, even though she knew she would be ignored. With an ear-piercing scream, Clara hammered her knife into Sarton's stomach. 

"You fucking son of a bitch!", Clara yelled. "You'll never hurt my brother again!" 

Immediately, there were gunshots everywhere. The BAU and the SWAT team both started firing as soon as Sarton raised his weapon, but it was too late. The bullet hit Clara's chest.

Slowly, she looked down at the surprisingly small blood spot on her sweater. Then she looked up again, directly at Reid. What a pretty man, she thought. Then her vision went black.

Sarton and Clara were both lying on the floor. Christopher seemed to be unconscious, he hadn't moved up until now.

"We need medics here," Hotch said into his radio.

Prentiss knelt down and put her finger onto Clara's neck. "I can barely feel her pulse," she said. "The medics better hurry."

Morgan was checking on Sarton and shook his head.

Rossi went over to Christopher. "He's alive," he announced, then he began to remove the boy's bloody clothing so the paramedics could immediately start working.

It didn't take them three minutes to arrive, but to the team, it felt like years were going by. SWAT had left the room – their job was done.

Then the medics came, and took Sarton, Clara and Christopher with them on stretchers. It was over. The team could go home.

**FBI/Behavioral Analysis Unit – Quantico, Virginia**

The team was sitting in their wide, bright office, each at a desk except for JJ and Hotchner, who had their own rooms, all doing paperwork and filling in reports.

Eventually, Prentiss got up, and said: "Who else here feels like grabbing a beer?"

"Totally," Rossi replied.

Reid said, "Uh, actually I'd rather stay here and… maybe get a coffee later on?"

Morgan stood up, grinning, and punched Reid's shoulder in a friendly way. "No way, Kid, you're coming with us."

They were just leaving as JJ suddenly entered the room. Her face did not scream good news.

"Guys. Christopher will be all right. Clara didn't even make it into surgery." 

"No," Prentiss said.

"I'm sorry I can't give you better news," JJ sighed. "Can I come with you, guys? Let's drink a toast to Clara."

**A Pub – Quantico, Virginia (Two Hours Later)**

"Come on, Kid. You sure you don't want a drink?", Morgan asked.

Reid shook his head. "No thanks, man."

"Hey." Morgan put his glass aside and leaned forward a bit. "What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?"

Reid sighed. "I don't know. She told me she hated her brother more than anything. And then she goes and tries to save him? All alone, with a pocketknife? I mean… You have two sisters. Explain it to me."

With a smile, Morgan said, teasingly: "Doesn't happen too often that _I _have to tell _you _something. But I guess there are some things all the books in the world won't teach you."

Then he continued a little more seriously: "Your father left you and your mom when you were a kid, right?"

Reid nodded slowly, then he sighed again. "Morgan, I tried to accuse my father of murder, remember?*"

"Okay, maybe that's not the best example. Look, sometimes, you don't need reasons or conditions or logical explanations for love and loyalty. They're just… there."

Reid looked a little puzzled. Morgan was amused. That kid could tell you the number of unemployed people in the seventeenth century for every country in the world, but when it came to emotions he was so often at a loss.

Eventually Reid said, "A group of people can't work together under these conditions, at least not for long." 

"Yes they can," Morgan replied. "It's called family. And now let's get you a drink."

Winston Churchill once said, _"There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human society, are created, strengthened and maintained." _

**THE END.**

*= Criminal Minds, Season 4: "The Instincts"/"Memoriam"

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